


fortune be

by Val_Creative



Series: GoT Drabble-Palooza 2019 [62]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Dead Cersei Lannister, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Married Couple, Mild Gore, Minor Character Death, Not Canon Compliant, POV Jaime Lannister, Post-Season/Series 08 Finale, Pregnancy, Sexual Content, Spring, Triple Drabble, Winterfell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2019-05-29
Packaged: 2020-03-29 11:29:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19019011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Val_Creative/pseuds/Val_Creative
Summary: Sansa had been an unexpected blessing in Jaime's life once he rode North. She granted him a listening ear, and then her hidden, lovely smiles when their shoulders brushed purposefully, Jaime's living-flesh thumb running on Sansa's pale knuckles.





	fortune be

**Author's Note:**

> Requested by Raiza-chan (FFN): "JaimeSansa, after the war and after Cersei dies." Never tried this ship but I'm always up for a challenge! Woo! Hope the shippers enjoyed this!

 

*

There's never a war for Cersei's Cunt. Jaime regrets making idle of such things about his family and his broken country.

Cersei dies in the wildfire she unleashes, her skin boiling, bubbling and melting away. He will hear her shrieking, _sobbing_ laughter in his darkest nightmares. Just as Jaime heard the Mad King before thrusting his ceremonial sword through his back.

It doesn't matter to him who sits on the Iron Throne now. Not really.

He's given up waging war and manipulating his enemies.

"G'morning," Jaime whispers, pressing a multiple of kisses into a tangle of red hair, against Sansa's cheek and her throat. He then presses a warmer, gentler kiss to the round, heavy swell of his wife's belly. Fortunes be for Winterfell's maester proclaiming it to be a single child.

A _girl_.

She'll be nothing like Cersei — dark hair, dark eyes, with that Stark fortitude and mercy.

Sansa had been an unexpected blessing in Jaime's life once he rode North. She granted him a listening ear, and then her hidden, lovely smiles when their shoulders brushed purposefully, Jaime's living-flesh thumb running on Sansa's pale knuckles.

Two years.

Sansa complained of ills and shivers and no longer bleeding during the New Spring. Maester Faviyan discovered the cause immediately, urging them into a hurried but embarrassingly stern ceremony in the Godswood. Jaime had no idea that Sansa's womb quickened already, filling her with his seed that night, Jaime thrusting lazily into her dampness and holding her down on the bedding. Her Tully blue eyes rolling backwards, as she squirmed and wailed and clamped down on Jaime's prick.

It's a sweet-tender memory that hardens Jaime against her backside.

"You'll be late with Tyrion," Sansa whispers back, laughing airily. He groans, pulling away from her warmth and leaving one last, affectionate kiss.

*

 


End file.
